Monthly Archive: June 2016

25

This is an extremely important work of Iranian fiction, written in the 1930s. It was chosen by someone in one of the book clubs I participate in. According to the introduction, it is so shocking that there are rumors that it led to people dying by suicide.

The book tells two versions of the same story – both told from the main character’s perspective. He is an artist who is either solitary or lives with his wife (depending on the telling). One version is a bit more supernatural-feeling than the other, both heavily feature sadness, loneliness, and darkness.

I missed something in this book. I didn’t get it, and that is why I didn’t give it a ranking. I feel like it’s just not something I can wrap my head around, because I can’t wrap my head around the book. It obviously is full of symbolism that I don’t get because I don’t have the shared culture that might be necessary to truly pick up on the nuance of the storytelling. I’m not even entirely clear on the purpose of the book. Perhaps is an allegory of death? I don’t know.

The author’s style keeps me from really getting into the book – the writing is fine, but it’s also a translation to English, so it comes across as fairly plain and also repetitive. There is (according to Wikipedia, which I visited immediately upon completion) a reason for this, and an art to it, but again I think a whole lot has been lost in translation.

Mostly reading this book made me angry that I a) can’t read all the languages and b) don’t understand or even have a basic understanding of the vast majority of cultures in the world.

20

I’m pretty sure the first time I encountered Tig Notaro’s work was in that This American Life Story, but it might also have been when she had a role in the sweet film “In A World.” I watched her documentary, and then her comedy special, and really enjoyed both. I find her to be intriguing and unpretentious, and so had to pick up her memoir.

If you have somehow managed to not heard her story, Ms. Notaro experienced a pretty brutal spring four years ago: she went through a breakup, fought a brutal C. Diff infection, lost her mother unexpectedly in a fall, and then was diagnosed with bilateral breast cancer.

Yeah.

This book is mostly focused on that time in Ms. Notaro’s life, and her recovery from it. She shares a lot of herself in a way that is genuine, sweet, and at times (but not always) funny. This isn’t a comedy memoir, but it is a memoir that will make you feel good. It made me feel good.

Not every good book is full of loud, declarative, life-altering statements that you want to immediately stitch on a pillow. Some are quietly strong, but awesome just the same. I loved this book. I can’t recommend it enough.

11

The day this book (which I had pre-ordered) was released, it was in the 80s out. I was walking home from work wearing two tank tops and covered with a sweater, because even though I was walking 1.5 miles home (uphill) in 80+ degree weather, I have big boobs, and those of us with big boobs know that hot weather clothing and a large chest don’t mix well if one wants to make it through the day without leers and snide comments. Of course, that’s not a guarantee that such comments and looks won’t come, as evidenced by the fact that on my way home, a man blocked my path, hovered about a foot away, made a move like he was going to walk away, then turned back with his hand out, making to grab my chest. He didn’t; instead he laughed and kept walking, while I told him to fuck off.

Good times.

Ms. Valenti’s memoir includes some similar stories, although her focus tends to be on her actions and reactions not necessarily to specific instances, but on how those instances are part of a larger, non-stop cacophony of shit that women deal with. Teachers who turn out to be creepers. Authority figures who don’t take threats to women seriously. Men who rape unconscious women but don’t really see anything wrong with it (*cough* Brock Turner *cough*), men who whip out their penises on subways or rub up against women on subways to get off (I, like Ms. Valenti, have experienced both of these things as well). Her own way of navigating this world involved drugs (mostly cocaine, and pot) and sex, at least as she has highlighted in this memoir. It follows her from youth through your daughter’s birth and beyond; however, I don’t think it actually really is fully chronological, although I could be wrong.

I believe I understand what Ms. Valenti was going for in framing her memoir this way, but I’m not entirely sure this book is successful in that regard. Each individual essay is mostly okay, although they all jump around in tenses so often that I actually did find myself having trouble understanding them at times. The topic areas and what she said will likely stick with me, but the organization of this memoir made it hard for me to really feel like I was connecting to the material, or to the author. I adore Ms. Valenti’s writings – Full Frontal Feminism and The Purity Myth are two of my favorite books – but this one won’t be added to that list.

8

In 2013, 19 members of the Granite Mountain Hotshots died fighting a fire outside of Yarnell, Arizona. One, working as a lookout, survived. Many children – some not yet born – were left without fathers, parents lost their sons, and in the end, a town lost its brothers.

I picked up this book thinking I’d learn a little bit more about what happened on that day, but in reality that day (despite the blurbs on the back) doesn’t seem to take up much of the book at all. Only about 30 of the 225 pages are about that day; the rest of the book focuses on providing an explanation of how wildfire fighting works, and introducing us to the men who comprised the Granite Mountain Hotshots. After the description of the fire, the author then turns to talking about how some of the families have been able to move forward with their lives.

The storytelling is great – Ms. Santos is clearly a very talented writer. But I felt that the book could have been longer and more in-depth. I appreciate that she wasn’t focused on assigning blame, but there was really no analysis of the reasons why the situation came about. She doesn’t hold back in her descriptions of some decisions, but unlike, say, Five Days at Memorial, in this book I just didn’t get the sense of strong journalistic analysis. That’s a real bummer, since Ms. Santos is a journalist, and I really feel like we all would benefit from some analysis in this book.

She does, however, at least touch on the super fucked-upedness of the majority of these men not being full-time, benefited employees (your jaw may drop at the base wages they earn), and the fact that in government, despite what some folks may say, the focus is always on trying to save more money, cut more costs, and that can come at a price – both to the individuals working for the government and the communities they are hired to protect.

This book is more like a biography of 19 people and their families, which is lovely, but not what I thought I was getting from this book. The stories Ms. Santos tells of the families are sweet and interesting, but with 19 men and their families to discuss, each one feels like it is clipped, so we don’t really get to know any of them very well.

If you find wildfire fighting interesting, and if you generally enjoy books on topics such as emergencies and disasters, I think you’ll find this a worthwhile read.

6

I read and reviewed Ms. McCreight’s previous novel in December – I read it in a day and found it to be really interesting. Similarly to the last time I found her work, I was in an airport bookstore, picked it up, and essentially didn’t put it down until I was finished.

The book is told from the perspectives of three women: Molly, a non-profit advocate turned journalist who has one daughter and experienced a stillbirth a couple of years back; Barbara, a ‘perfect mother’ who doesn’t think very highly of Molly and is married to the town’s Police Chief; and Sandy, a 16-year-old whose mother is missing. The premise? A baby has been found dead in the woods on the town University campus, and Molly is sent to cover the story.

There are twists. Some you might see coming, some you might not. The writing is interesting, and the characters are mostly fleshed out.

However, I do see this author as seeming to only be able to write about women as mothers. There’s one grown woman in this book who doesn’t have children, and it comes out it’s because of a hysterectomy. I get that most women have kids, but man, it really stands out when that is the single defining characteristic of all of the adult characters in the book.

6

That hashtag was featured heavily in my Twitter time line over the weekend, as the film version of “Me Before You” hit theaters. I had purchased the book at Target while trying to pass the time after a work training, but didn’t realize there was such discussion around it. Even though I knew the film was getting some very severe criticism, I wasn’t familiar enough with the plot to know if that was because the film hewed close to the book, or strayed from it. Below is more of a discussion of the issues raised in the book than the book itself, and is full of all the spoilers. Content note for ableism.

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Okay. So, here’s the entire premise: Will, a rich white guy who loves adventure, is hit by a vehicle and left with a C5-6 spinal injury, which means he cannot move most anything below his very upper chest. He has some movement in his hands, but has full feeling (as I understand it). He can’t properly regulate his body temperature. He uses a mechanical wheelchair to move about, and has an assistat who addresses his sanitary needs. He also has returned home to his parents’ mansion.

Louisa (Lou) is a young white woman from the other side of the tracks (in this case, a historic castle standing as a substitute) who was laid off when the cafe she worked in closes. Her family relies on her income; she ends up working as a companion for Will, although not focused on medical issues. As she finds out a few weeks after she starts her six-month contract, she’s been hired to try to convince Will not to follow through with his appointment at an assisted suicide facility in Switzerland.

The #LiveBoldly tag was started by the film marketing team based on the idea that Will helps Lou decide she wants more out of her life, even as he does, in the end, die by suicide. Many members of the disability community took on the tag and repurposed it to very rightfully point out that non able-bodied people a) are not able-bodied inspiration porn, and b) live boldly as well, thank you very much. They viewed the film (and the book) as essentially suggesting that all non able-bodied people have lives that are not worth living, and should go and kill themselves.

That sucks. That sucks that when we finally get someone who uses a wheelchair as a character in the film, it is both not the main character of the film (the book is written primarily from Lou’s perspective, and never from Will’s) and features an able-bodied actor instead of someone with similar injuries. I didn’t, however, take away the message from the book that life in a wheelchair is not worth living – I took it as one story. However, especially after reading more articles on the issue, I can see the frustration. It’s so rare that a person who uses a wheelchair permanently is the focus of anything in pop culture, let alone a best-selling book a major movie – why must it be from the perspective of the person NOT in the wheelchair? And why must the focus be on how unhappy the person in the wheelchair is?

I fully support assisted suicide for anyone with a terminal diagnosis who has made the decision that they are not interested in continuing to live with severe pain, and want to exercise more control over their lives. But I also respect the concerns raised some, which include:
– Health care: if assisted suicide is an option, will insurance companies stop covering palliative care of life-prolonging treatment, and instead just cover the medications that facilitate the death?
– Benefits: If someone is receiving financial assistance other than health care, once there is a terminal diagnosis of some point (say, six months), will the benefits stop if the ill person doesn’t choose assisted suicide before then?
– Family: If assisted suicide is an option, will terminally ill people choose assisted suicide much sooner than perhaps their symptoms would suggest in an effort to avoid being a burden on others? Or will family members ‘help’ the decision along in order to more quickly access things like inheritance?

It’s a failure as a nation and humanity that people have to even face these hypothetical situations. And we should be protecting everyone from abuse. But I don’t see that as a reason to deny the choice of death to someone who is ill.

Non-terminal illness or disability is another situation though, right? Even with a severe spinal cord injury, someone might live for decades. So why should we provide access to such an option, especially if it might be abused? Should we?

With all of these question in mind, I have to give this book a very low review.